


You Saw Me Standing On My Lone Mountain

by HenryMercury



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Crushes, F/F, Post-Ant Man, Shoes, Specifically Louboutins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryMercury/pseuds/HenryMercury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talking to Hope is easy - as though they've both come along the exact same path to meet at this point, and have walked it in the same brand of heels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've finished writing the second part, but I'll post it in a few days' time when I've had a chance to give it a read over.
> 
> I started this as soon as I came home from watching Ant-Man at the cinema (which admittedly was towards the end of the time it was showing, but the half-finished draft was stuck in my fic folder for so long that that barely makes a difference now). In the spirit of finishing stuff, here it is at last.
> 
> Title from Warpaint's Disco//Very.

It's always been the silent treatment between Pym Tech and Stark Industries. Tony waves the problem away like he always does; enough people like Tony that he doesn't think he needs the ones who don't. And that may be true to some extent, but Pepper is a businesswoman, not a showman. A negotiator, not a take-me-or-leave-me media personality. When she takes the reins of SI, she sends the also-newly-appointed Darren Cross a bottle of Macallan. It's only a 1939, so if Tony finds out it's not like he can _really_ claim to be mad.

A day later she has Cross on the phone. The call doesn't come to anything, but Pepper knows the difference between someone who says no because he doesn't _want_ to say yes, and someone who says no because it's not the right time. Darren Cross, she predicts, might well go against his predecessor's wishes and work with SI sometime in the not-too-distant future.

*

Pepper hears things. She gets coffee and shops for antiques with Phil Coulson—she bothers to phone Rhodey at least twice a month, unlike _someone_. She bought Sam Wilson a sports car for his birthday and is now more or less his favourite person (plus he likes to drink with someone who will end up as tipsy as him every once in a while, rather than Steve _or_ Natasha). She works with Maria Hill, who will never not be in the loop—and Natasha sometimes fills her in on things too. Because she hears things in all these ways, Pepper knows a little more than the average citizen about the total implosion of the Pym Tech building in San Francisco.

It's more because she empathises than because she wants to buy Hope Van Dyne's favour that she pulls out one of the bottles of Nolet's Reserve she buys herself with Tony's money whenever he owes her a significant apology, and has it sent to Pym Tech's newest CEO. It should be an appropriate choice. It's not as ridiculously priced as Macallan, but then she's never seen or heard of Hope Van Dyne drinking whiskey, and she _has_ seen her sipping gin and tonic before. Pepper usually goes for martinis, and vodka ones at that, but she appreciates a quality gin as well as the next stressed-out CEO dealing with impulsive boys in super-suits on a regular basis.

She calls Hope without being put through for two weeks. She doesn't consider it a _no_ just yet, since Hope's bound to be run off her feet.

As it works out, she sees Hope in person before she gets a call back.

She's in SF for a meeting with potential investors—a husband and wife who want to be so thoroughly schmoozed that Pepper almost, _almost_ wants to beg Tony to fly here in his suit and help. The schmoozing is the part of business where Pepper falls behind Tony the most. She doesn't take it too hard, since she does other things she considers more important—like paying attention and making reasonable choices—better than he ever did. She just doesn't command the same whirlwind energy that he does, that ability to talk about anything he feels like and still convince people they've been told something they wanted to hear.

She has three generous glasses of the pricey but frankly uninspiring Riesling her guests order, pays the bill and then promptly takes herself to the Louboutin store on Maiden Lane. The wine washes around in her a bit, but she's weathered far more dramatic storms in the very same Jimmy Choo Anouks she's wearing now.

She peruses the display on the nearest wall; picks up the Boltina in pastel pink, green and yellow with big white laces.

"Why on earth would anyone wear these?" she wonders under her breath.

"Not everyone with money has the style of a stiff businesswoman," someone says from behind her, and Pepper tries not to jump in surprise.

"They'll end up pretty stiff if all their trainers have heels like these," she jokes. She's run places in stilettos—she's run under fire, being showered with shattered glass, run for her life. Just because it's _possible_ doesn't mean it should be volunteered for.

She turns to look at the speaker and finds herself faced with a smooth brown bob, red lipstick, sharp nose.

"Ms. Van Dyne," she says.

"Ms. Potts. I suppose I should thank you for the gin."

"Not necessary. I've been in a similar position and I remember needing a good drink." She pauses, smiles amiably. "That never really goes away when your business is all tied up with superheroes."

"I know you sent Darren Cross Macallan when you took over as CEO. Should I be offended by the Nolet? Am I comparatively cheap?"

Pepper smiles fully at her then. She even laughs a little. She'd never have had this conversation buzzed from wine if she'd been able to anticipate it, but now that she's here it feels like it's aiding her, if anything.

"In my experience," she explains, "a certain kind of woman receives a bottle of ten thousand dollar whiskey slightly differently than a certain kind of man does. Something about the ego. The Nolet wasn't a bribe. If you wanted one of those, I could buy you a sports car. Maybe even a jet?"

"Then I'd think you were desperate."

"See? That's what I meant. Someone like Tony, or Darren Cross, or—" Pepper shudders, "Obadiah Stane, would just see an extravagant offering as nothing more than their due. Perfectly appropriate recognition that the giver of the gift knew who they were talking to."

"And who do you think you're talking to?"

Pepper looks squarely into Hope's eyes. Her stare is incredibly unyielding. Telling her she's brilliant or strong or beautiful isn't going to cut it—these things are all obvious and she has no doubt that Hope knows it.

"Someone who's already put up with enough bullshit for a lifetime," Pepper answers. "Someone who just wants people to be upfront with her, and then step aside while she does her thing."

Hope considers. "Well, you're not wrong," she says. "And I suspect this is a case of it taking one to know one. What is it you want, then?"

"I want what any CEO wants: the best connections for her company. And I want you to know that Stark Industries' hands are not necessarily Tony Stark's hands."

Hope picks up a Benedetta from the shelf and examines it instead of replying.

"Those are some of my favourites," Pepper says. She likes the strappiness of them, the T front.

"In my opinion it's impossible to go past the So Kates. Pointed toes, pumps—very like the shoes you're wearing currently." Hope's eyes flicker down to Pepper's Jimmy Choos. They work their way back up her body a little more slowly. An intimidation tactic, presumably. The wine chooses that moment to send a warm flush to Pepper's cheeks.

"I'm sorry about Darren Cross," she blurts out. "It seems like it should be easy, moving past the ending of a person when they've gone bad like that—but it's really not."

Hope gives her a strange look.

"Obadiah Stane," Pepper realises that Hope, like most people, doesn't know the whole truth behind Iron Man's inception, and her tongue tangles in its desire to pour the words out all at once. After all, she already knows more than she should about Hope's predicament. It'd only be fair.

"I sense there's a longer story there somewhere."

Pepper nods. "I could tell it to you over martinis," she offers.

She doesn't expect Hope to agree. It's not a bad surprise when she does, but it does make her doubt her own assessments of the businesswoman that Hope Van Dyne is.

"Shoes are on me today," Pepper says, once they've both decided on their purchases, and hands her card to the shop assistant.

"Are you implying they'll be on me next time?" Hope raises an eyebrow. Pepper can partially see the slender arch of it behind a gap in her fringe where the ends of the hair curl to the side slightly.

"I didn't mean to imply anything, but I'd never turn down a pair of complimentary Louboutins."

Hope hands her a business card as they exit the shop.

"Call me next time you're in SF," she says, and turns on her heels to leave.

Pepper doesn't see why Hope would feel the need to give her a business card when she already has all the relevant numbers, but as she looks at it she sees the blue ink numbers, written in a steady hand, in the white space under Hope's silver-printed name.

*

Pepper looks at the card in spare moments even though the number has already been stored in her Starkphone. She turns it over so much that the edges start to grow blunt and the crisp white background becomes less so, just from the natural oils of her hands. Hope's intention in giving it to her does not become any clearer from her fidgeting.

After a week she calls it, despite not being in SF. (She can change that if she needs to; she has access to the fastest private jets.)

"Hope Van Dyne," the phone is answered after a couple of rings. The voice at the other end sounds breathless. It's strange to hear, like Pepper imagines seeing Hope with ruffled hair would be.

"This is Pepper Potts. Have I caught you at a bad time?"

A huff of laughter. "No worse than any other lately. If you're calling because you're in San Francisco I'm afraid _I'm_ not."

"No, no, I'm not there right now."

"Then what is it?"

Pepper had hoped she'd get some clue from this conversation that could lead her forward in it. This, it seems, is a private number. It feels somehow wrong to launch into the kind of business pitch she might otherwise have gone with.

There's a thudding sound, a grunt.

"Are you in the gym?" Pepper hazards.

A beat goes by. "Yeah. Sorry, just finishing up if you want to talk."

"Uh, sure."

"You can tell me about whatever happened with Stane."

Pepper hesitates at that. When she'd run into Hope that afternoon in the shoe store the wine had loosened her tongue a little, and perhaps the unexpectedness of the encounter had loosened it a touch too. Obadiah isn't something she talks about, ordinarily. Tony, Coulson and her carefully vetted therapist are the only others who know the full story. And Nick Fury, since apparently he's alive again now.

Hope reads her silence. "Or maybe that isn't a phone conversation."

"It's not, no."

"I'm going to be in New York for a conference next week Tuesday if you're not busy. I can fly in early or stay late."

"I'm always busy. But I should be able to open up the Wednesday. I've been trying to avoid that meeting with Harry Michaels, if I'm honest. It's the same complaints every time with him."

"Great," says Hope. "Pick your favourite lunch place and we'll go there. It's a date."

*

Pepper stops by Maria Hill's desk on her way out. Hill quickly manoeuvres her way out of the phone call she's in.

"What's up, boss?"

Pepper's stopped trying to correct her when she calls her that. It's respectfully meant, she knows, and Maria's had a hard time adjusting from the very hierarchical spy work with SHIELD to a less strictly defined semi-undercover security role at SI.

"I'm not... I'm not sure of whether I've just been asked on a date. A _date_ -date, as opposed to a business date."

"Sounds juicy. Was it Marcus? If it was Marcus then he definitely means it to be a _date_ -date. Also, if it was Marcus I'd advise against—"

"It wasn't Marcus. It was a woman."

Maria doesn't flinch, which Pepper appreciates. She hasn't dated a woman since her early twenties, and even back in college she was more about work and student politics than whatever brief relationships she entertained. She's found it odd that none of those flings have found their way into the media, but one way or another they've stayed in the past. In all her years working for Tony he was the only one who caught her eye, and since her relationship with Tony it's been all work and nothing on the romantic front again. In short, Pepper's never felt the need to discuss this with anyone.

"Well, that narrows it down to half the world's population," Maria grins. "You've got to give me more than that, Ms. Potts."

Pepper checks the space around them for any eavesdroppers.

She leans in over Maria's desk and whispers, "Hope Van Dyne."

 _Now_ Maria looks surprised.

"But the Pyms—"

"I _know_."

"What exact words did she use?"

Pepper cancels her four o'clock to chat with Maria like they're in high school and barely feels guilty at all. Mr. Gyeong and his lacklustre security systems can wait.

*

Pepper isn't sure whether she should go big and fancy, or keep things toned down and private. She opts for something closer to the latter—a small Italian place that really does have the best food.

She arrives slightly early and orders a dirty martini to start off with. It calms her a bit. She pulls a handkerchief out of her bag and wipes her damp hands on it before she can give in to the impulse to rub them on her Armani suit pants. She wonders whether they're too businesslike for this... date. Or whether she's read the whole thing wrong and there's really nothing at all besides business going on here. Pepper can't explain exactly why she suspects otherwise—it's intuition, and intuition can be hard to distinguish from presumptuousness.

Hope arrives precisely on time. She's wearing a pantsuit too, to Pepper's relief. It's black where Pepper's is a light grey houndstooth, and the cut of it is as sharp as Hope's bob and fringe, both of which look freshly trimmed (it's possible they simply always do).

"You started without me."

Pepper looks at the half-drunk martini, the toothpick with two olives missing the third that she's already pulled off and eaten.

"Just taking full advantage of my day off," Pepper answers.

"Day off? What on earth is that?"

They laugh, and none of it is as difficult as Pepper had imagined. The vodka helps as it always does, but it can't take all the credit. Hope Van Dyne, it turns out, can be amiable in a way Pepper's never imagined.

They work their way through olives and sliced meats, pasta and seafood, and most of all two (increasingly) pleasant bottles of unwooded chardonnay. Pepper tells Hope about Obadiah, but mostly they talk about skiing, tennis, past encounters with Justin Hammer and his fake-tanned hands, business fashion, the share market in general terms, insufferable board members, the best vodkas they've had, and the worst. Talking to most of the people Pepper has to talk to for work is like hitting her head against a brick wall. Talking to Hope is easy, as though they've both come along the exact same path to meet at this point, and have walked it in same brand of heels.

"Most of the fighting I've done was kind of an accident. Incidental, at best," Pepper says when Hope is talking about the martial arts she's done.

"That sounds like another long story."

"It is."

"You could tell it to me while I show you a few moves? If you want to learn them, that is—I think it's always a good idea for people in positions like ours, though."

Pepper's had a lot of offers before—from Tony, which was obviously a disaster; from Happy, which was almost as much of one; from Steve Rogers, who was a more effective teacher but  not a well-weighted opponent for her; Natasha, who, having practically been born a master assassin, did not end up being a great beginner-level tutor.

Pepper doesn't _like_ fighting. She doesn't like being kidnapped either, though, and there's no denying that the possibility of being kidnapped is a real and ongoing part of her life. What Pepper does like is being prepared.

"Okay, maybe juuuust self-defence," she says, draining the last of the wine in her glass and not quite believing it's gone, that the whole second bottle is gone.

"Great! We could start tonight. We could go right now," Hope suggests, then stands, tipping precariously to the side as she pulls her blazer back on.

"I don't think that's the best idea. Tonight's more of a... crash on the couch and recover kind of night than a learning-new-complicated-skills kind of night."

"That sounds good too," Hope shrugs.

When Pepper had imagined lazing around and sobering up she'd imagined doing it by herself, but if Hope _wants_ to join her...

Pepper's driver picks them both up and they slump tipsily in the leather seats all the way back to her place. Pepper realises that she hadn't thought much more about the nature of the lunch while it was happening. She'd been too caught up in enjoying the conversation and the meal. She's pretty sure it was too friendly, too easy to be a building block in a business relationship and nothing more—but she still hasn't got a clear indication of any more intimate intent behind it either. She had a good time, she thinks, feels a warm smile easing its way across her face. She'd be happy just to have more of these conversations even if that was all that ever happened.   

*

"You watch James Bond often?" Hope asks as she flicks through the movies on Pepper's TV.

"No," Pepper laughs. "I just have all the films thanks to Tony." She's worried for a second that she's crossed a line by bringing up Tony, stirring up the fact that yes, his presence used to run all through her personal life.  

Hope doesn't falter, though. "I've watched all of these a million times," she says. "Spy movies, sci-fi, crime. I used to want to be James Bond, if I couldn't be a superhero like Dad," she chuckles.

"Pick one and we'll watch it, then," Pepper tells her. "I'm going to make some tea, if you want any?"

"Earl grey—and a glass of iced water too, if you don't mind."

Pepper pads over to the kitchen, puts the jug on to boil, makes a small mess when her hands aren't entirely steady with the tea leaves. As she waits for the hot water to be ready, she leans against the bench and reflects on the fact that Hope Van Dyne is in her house. Hope Van Dyne, who she used to assume would never even be a particularly civil business acquaintance. Who, up until a few weeks ago, really _wasn't._

It's still surprising, even though Pepper's threshold for surprise has been blown way out into the distant corners of the universe by now. Flying suits, the real Captain America being found alive, suddenly being promoted to CEO, stuffed rabbits with mammaries for arms, cities flying in the air, SHIELD agents dying and apparently coming back from the dead. At this point, it's the things that actually go smoothly that shock Pepper the most.

Maybe that's the real reason she's surprised right now. Today has been too simple and pleasant to believe, and now there's a beautiful woman sitting in on her couch picking out some kind of action movie to watch. It's harder to make sense of than aliens.

She returns to the TV room with a mug of earl grey, a mug of lemon green tea, a pitcher of iced water and some biscuits.

"Do you want to borrow something more comfortable?" Pepper asks, as Hope shrugs out of her suit jacket.

"Why not."

Five minutes later they're both in track suits sipping tea and watching the stunning landscapes of _Skyfall_. Pepper is tired and still drunk and it's easy to lean in to Hope's shoulder, and Hope finds it easy enough to lean her head on top of Pepper's so that Pepper's tucked in the crook of her neck.

*

Pepper wakes up with exactly the hangover she deserves, and then some. Her back is monstrously stiff and she can't even tell at what point her neck is straight because it hurts whenever it isn't tilted heavily to the left. She's alone on the couch.

"Hope?" she calls, though it takes her voice a couple of attempts to gather enough volume. "Are you still here?"

There's no answer, and Pepper finds no Hope upon inspection of the rest of her place.

She does find another business card, with another handwritten note on it. This one says, _Work called. Have a fire to put out in Chicago. You looked like the sleep would do you good._

There's no "Call me" but Pepper does at least feel better knowing that Hope took the time to leave an explanation. She can related to being hauled out of bed by work emergencies—or in this case, off the couch. Of course, it could just be an excuse.

She resolves to let Hope call her, if she does want to see Pepper again.

 

The next day Pepper's track pants are delivered to her wrapped in plastic, freshly laundered. They smell fresh and clean in a washing-products kind of way and Pepper feels vaguely sad about it.


	2. Chapter 2

A month passes without a call from Hope. Pepper isn't sure whether it's obvious she's bothered by the way the woman swept out of her life every bit as suddenly as she swept in. The fact that Maria notices and offers a listening ear doesn't mean it's obvious. The fact that Natasha places a shot of vodka in front of her when she _happens to run into_ Pepper and Coulson while they're catching up at a bar, and the knowing look she gives Pepper as she says, "on me" doesn't mean it's obvious. The increased frequency with which Coulson mentions his cello-playing former beau doesn't mean it's obvious. All of these people are supposed to know things even when they're well-hidden.

When Tony turns up with a huge cheesy pizza and a mixed box of expensive wines, however, Pepper has to choose between reading the signs and shutting herself in a box of outright denial.

"Pep," Tony says, "I don't know how long whatever it is has been going on—I know I don't always... notice things—but when I told you we'd be friends I meant it. I wanted to mean it, anyway. I still do. What I'm trying to say is, I want you to be happy, and fully-functional, and I sense that something's getting in the way of that."

The latter half of his earnest speech is given through a mouthful of deep dish, but Pepper's touched by it nonetheless. Tony Stark gauging and carrying off an appropriate response to an emotional situation is a thing that deserves celebration, so Pepper uncorks one of the wines and pours two generous glasses. She takes a sip and the chardonnay flows over her tongue, fruity and just the right amount of sharp. It's very like one she and Hope drank on their single, strange date. She takes another, larger sip and tries to dissociate the taste from the memory. One date isn't nearly enough to bind one of her favourite drinks to a troubled memory. It's only happening because she's wallowing.

"How did you know?" she asks Tony.

He scratches the back of his neck and says, "I noticed your behaviour was subtly different?" sounding entirely questioning, and entirely questionable.

Pepper gives him a look.

"There was a board meeting," he blurts out.

Pepper stills. She opens her mouth and nothing comes out. The board meeting. Which she completely forgot to attend. For this to have happened she must have been distracted several times over—for the event not to have made it into her calendar at all, or to have lodged itself in her memory. It's a sure sign that she's been preoccupied.

"How did _you_ even find out about the board meeting?" Pepper quizzes Tony, partly out of evasiveness and partly because she genuinely wonders.

"Todd," he grimaces.

"Of course." Todd, unfortunately not a board member Pepper can try to edge out without consequence, still likes to think of her as Tony's PA at best, some kind of manipulative usurper at worst.

"I told him I'd asked you to be elsewhere on an urgent matter," Tony jams some more pizza in his mouth.

Pepper sighs. "I have been distracted," she admits.

"Yeah, that's why I'm here. What I don't know is why."

"It's... well, a form of romantic trouble, I guess. Do you really want to talk about this with me, Tony?" Pepper doesn't know whether she wants to talk about any relationship matter with her ex, let alone a matter concerning a woman whose family has always opposed the Starks.

"Yeah, Pep, hit me with your romantic drama," Tony grins, and knocks back half his wine in one go. He makes a face that says he doesn't really like it, but he keeps drinking all the same. Pepper promises herself she won't let either of them open any of the other bottles he brought tonight.

Tony was never wonderful at comprehending relationship issues when it was _their_ relationship Pepper was discussing, but he does at least sit and listen rather intently as she recounts the entire brief thing with Hope. Unhelpful comments go over Pepper's head by now, but once Tony's got those out of his system he looks at her like he cares, like Pepper's problems are important to him, and Pepper didn't know how much she needed to feel like they were a team again. Like it'd be fine if they were still all each other had even though now they're both entangled in a much vaster and messier network of friends and colleagues.

"You remember when I was hauling that nuke into space?" Tony says, pouring more wine.

Pepper feels her mouth harden into a line. "Of course I do, Tony," she says. She doesn't like being reminded of it, and for all the bravado Tony tries to project she knows very well that he doesn't either.

"Well, when I was flying up there I tried to call you. You weren't watching your phone, and I know now that it was because you were too busy watching me on TV. But I didn't know that at the time."

The blasé way he says this doesn't stop the words from scratching and burning, salt embedding itself in the wound that the thought of Tony launching himself out into nothingness while her phone rang to voicemail tore open back in the moment she saw the missed call on her device.

"What I'm trying to say is, you should call her."

"What?"

"Call her. You're waiting for her to call you and assuming that if she doesn't then she's not interested, but you're too smart not to realise that there are other variables in play here. Just because she hasn't got you on the phone yet doesn't mean she hasn't got you on the brain. There's one simple way to find out whether she'd like to see you again: you ask her. Call her. And if it goes to voicemail, that's no guarantee she doesn't care about you either."

Pepper realises as she listens to this really very decent advice that even though she's always been deeply confident that Tony Stark is a good person, she's also never really expected that truth to present itself on the surface in a totally coherent way. They eat greasy food and drink just that one bottle of wine and they talk, and afterwards Pepper collapses onto her bed happy with at least the knowledge that out of all this has come a new tone of conversation with the person who remains most important to her.

*

Pepper does call. The next day, immediately after ending a surprisingly productive conference call, she taps Hope's picture on the screen and the phone is ringing before she can talk herself out of it.

"Pepper," Hope answers. "It's not a great time right now." Her voice sounds flat, but Pepper tells herself that if Hope really didn't want to talk to her she wouldn't have bothered to answer at an inconvenient time.  

"Should I call back later?" Pepper asks.

She hears Hope sigh at the other end. "Yes. Tomorrow. Sorry. I'd like that."

It's terse and brief and postponing, not really leaps and bounds, but it's enough to put Pepper in a good mood for the rest of the day.

Hope calls her back the following morning, before Pepper has even thought of doing it herself. She trying to end a meeting that's spilling over into what was supposed to be her coffee break, and the timing allows her to bring it to a close.

"I'm afraid I really must take this," she says, trying to sound apologetic rather than pleased. "Feel free to see my assistant about another meeting on your way out, if you think there's more we need to discuss."

On cue, Maria appears at the office door, ready to escort him out of the building. Pepper sends her a nod of thanks when his back is turned. In return, Maria looks at the phone in Pepper's hand—not her work number, or Maria would have vetted the calls before letting them through—and raises her eyebrows in question. Pepper gives her a small smile and another nod, and Maria winks. Then, in a second, she's out the door and Pepper is sitting alone in her office with Hope Van Dyne waiting for her to respond.

"It's nice to hear from you," Pepper says, then curses herself for how awkward it sounds. "I mean, you just got me out of an unnecessary meeting, so thank you."

"Happy to help. I was wondering whether you'd like to do lunch again."

Pepper makes herself wait for a split second before responding, "certainly."

"Got any time during the week of the sixteenth?"

Pepper checks her schedule. "Morning on Monday, afternoon-evening on Thursday. Possible Friday lunch."

"Let's go with Thursday," says Hope. "I'll pick a place I like this time, and text you the details."

"It's a date," says Pepper—because she wants it to be, and has reason to suspect that it is, but this will be her chance to find out for sure what's going on here. She's glad Hope can't see her flush through the phone because her ears are burning bright pink as she ends the call and leans back in her office chair to breathe.

*

She dresses for the occasion in a well-tailored black Armani sheath that she doesn't generally consider workwear. The nearest and most seasonally-appropriate coat is her black trench, so Pepper picks her white Follies off her shoe shelf and matches the red soles with a layer of Marc Jacobs Neo-Noir on the lips. She still feels somewhat nervous, but she's at least good at looking bold, and eventually the act convinces even her.

The restaurant is barely more than a nook down the side of a clean little alleyway, but the food is the best Japanese Pepper's tasted in a long time. They start with warm saké and Pepper orders tea when the alcohol disappears more quickly than she's expecting. No matter how many times she drinks it, she always forgets how fast saké gets to her, and her face feels heated by the time their dishes begin to arrive.

"This tofu is one of my favourite things in the world," Hope says as she dips a piece in the sauce and transports it to her mouth. "Reminds me of... good times."

"Thanks for sharing it with me, then," Pepper says. "Now it can remind me of good times too."

Hope lets out a little startled laugh. "You're a charmer, Pepper Potts," she says.

Pepper laughs back. "If you think so then I'll let you keep believing it."

"After that first time we went out, I kept thinking, _This can't be as easy as it seems_."

It's a more earnest confession, even if it slides casually into the conversation. Pepper responds with earnestness of her own. "I know what you mean," she says. "I'm not used to people just _getting it_. Usually that's a sign that they're lying."

"I like you, Pepper. But that can't come without qualifications, so I'm just going to lay it all out on the table."

Hope tips the last of the saké into her cup and does away with it, then signals the waitress for more. _I like you,_ Pepper's head replays several times in the few beats of silence before Hope continues:

"I know what I'm doing when it comes to business, when it comes to who _I_ want to be, but my track record isn't great when it comes to relationships. On all counts I go after what I want—but in business, I know the game. I pick the wrong people to date. I rush into things only to find I don't want them nearly as much as I thought I did. I go and do things like I kiss a man who's been nothing but a thorn in my side because I think I catch a glimpse of something. I can't tell anymore whether I want a person or whether I just want to want them."

Pepper mulls this over and, when the fresh saké arrives, she takes another drink despite feeling buzzed enough. She has a feeling that if she doesn't, Hope will drink the whole thing on her own, and she isn't sure whether that's quite necessary.

"I think I get what you're saying," she answers. "About not knowing whether what you want is really that or whether it's just... circumstances, I guess? Most of my life was spent pursuing the same relationship, so I don't have a lot of different experiences for comparison."

"I can't say for sure what I want from you, Pepper," says Hope, and this time her eyes are cast down at the table. She fiddles with her chopsticks.

"You don't need to." If this were a business partnership then she'd need certainty, but it's not, and in Pepper's experience trying to envision how a relationship ought to be before it gets underway only leads to disappointment, unnecessary complications. "I've enjoyed what time I've spent with you. It's just been so..."

"Normal?"

"Yes, normal," Pepper agrees. "And it's hard to believe that I could ever have normal."

Hope brings her hand to her forehead, leans into it. Her hair swings forward at the sides and hangs there like a veil.

"It isn't even like me to avoid things," she sighs. "Maybe it does run in the family after all. But... no, there's just so much going on."

"Hey," Pepper says quietly, stepping forward and placing a tentative hand on Hope's shoulder. "The last thing you need to be doing is worrying over this."

Hope brings her head back up to look at Pepper.

"Are you telling me you haven't been worried at all?"

Pepper smiles at her. "Of course I have," she says. "But I'm a hypocrite, not a liar. This isn't one of the things that warrants our stressing about it. There's so much else out there for that."

"You and I know that better than most."

"We do. Do you fancy dessert?"

"I've been craving an affogato, honestly," says Hope. "Maybe we could hit the gelato place around the corner, then watch a movie?"

Pepper's tired—buzzing with the adrenaline of this conversation, the start of something, but she can feel that energy getting ready to collapse into the deeper exhaustion. Dessert and a movie sounds like just the right balance of fun and relaxation.

"At the cinema?" she asks. "I've no idea what's out. Is _Spectre_ still showing?"

Hope shakes her head. "You're better off without _Spectre_ , if you ask me. But I was thinking we could stream something from my hotel room." There's a pause, and she adds, "not to proposition you—I didn't mean—"

Pepper, feeling bold, reaches out and lays her hand over Hope's on the table. "I know. Although for what it's worth, I'm open to seeing where things lead, tonight and overall. We don't _have_ to play a game, here. This is one thing we have total control over."

Hope turns her hand underneath Pepper's so that it's facing up, and interlaces their fingers. "You're right," she says.

"There's only one way to find out whether that's true."


End file.
